Toujours et Toujours
by Konniemay
Summary: When a man fails at flirting with the Hellequin in an Inn tavern, he is encountered by her brother, The Harlequin, who shares with him a sinful story kept secret to the public eye. The history of how they came to be. - Oneshot Harlequin/Hellequin origins story. A little something to explain the complexity between Cahin and Caha. Incest warning.


**Toujours et Toujours**

_L'amour. C'est quelque chose unique, bien sûr. Mais notre amour était vraiment unique... c'etait un amour interdit, un amour avec mon chere soeur. Et un amour qu'etait vrai._

* * *

"Non~ now go. You do not interest me!~" A female voice dismissed a failed attempt at desperate flirtation, her tone aggravated. With a sigh he collapsed into the nearest set of chairs, in a darker area where he could continue to watch the colourful lady who'd turned him away. "Puttana…" Across from him he noticed a mask, and striped clothes, something which shocked him once he'd settled. "non preoccuparti…" The creature said, chuckling at the man's shock. "Mi displace… I-I will move-" "No. You may stay. Why did you insist on bothering her?" He quietly spoke, his demeanour juxtaposing the smile of his mask. "You are an actor?" "A jester." He corrected to be precise. "The acting is more a role set for her." He motioned to the woman he'd eyes for. "She is beautiful... but she turned me down. Is she faithful? Is she your wife?" "…that is a complicated matter. She is not interested in you." The jester replied, warning in his voice. "You may explain to me, apologize for seeming so aggressive." "You would not enjoy the story." "I am sure would if it involves a Madonna like that. Y-you are a lucky man." He caught the stranger eying her again. The Harlequin cringed. "... Va bene. You will not like it." " I am listening…" he ordered them both a drink, insisting to bribe the jester to accept his apology and satisfy his curiosities. Why not? Cahin thought, It had been awhile since he'd spoken of it.

* * *

You could imagine the relief it was to have a safe birthing. So I have been told the story many times in my youth. The bitter winter night had left my mother and the midwives exerted from their intentions, forced to manage the fire and the stress of a woman in labour. My father had stayed away from the whole ordeal, and strictly insisted that it was a private matter. When I took my first breath of air and bellowed out, my lungs strong, all were relieved that a boy had been born into the family. Joy overwhelmed the room of tired maidens, and my bringing was notified to my father in haste. While the news was passed within the walls of the chilled house, my mother could not enjoy her success, for her labour pains grew, stronger than ever. It was of course not I who tormented my mother, this I know from my experiences now. I had been a smooth delivering. My sister however, came as a panicked surprise. Mother had screamed in agony, the head midwife passing me along as she noticed a great problem. Great commotion filled the room, and the maidens rushed to fetch a doctor, and perhaps a priest. Much prayer was happening at that point. Blood, and sweat my mother had to pay intensive torment for a smaller child, the most precious anomaly ever to occur in that Venetian household. My dearest sister, Caha.

We were two healthy infants with a mother that was still alive. To have survived the affliction of childbirth twice was a miracle. The household had gotten everything they wanted. The debate for the fairer sex had been settled with two children of both sexes to for fill the wishes of all. Despite our features being eerily similar, I still always thought Caha had gotten the better of our faces. With my father satisfied, he took it as given blessing from God, and often boasted of our miraculous coming into the world. As if he was privileged by the divine. He would enjoy that delusion. He ordered us to be treated with such care, and for our mother to receive the best medical treatment he could buy to rekindle her broken humors. I do not remember my mother from infancy, for she was weak and did not see us often. We were left to the servants of the house. From that point on I have only been told of parties, gatherings and many dinner guests who would fawn over the likeness of Caha and I, and how beautiful we were. Flashes of memories still riddle me, though I dare not ask Caha. It is something of a private mystery.

Because of our mother's origins, she named us in her native tongue, which our father did not testify since she had endured. As children, she only spoke to us in French, unless of course the conversation involved our Padre. As long as he could speak to us, we were not bothered for our bilingualism, which is a convenient asset now embedded in our minds. We were expected to be educated to learn the refinement of an aristocratic lifestyle. It was quite intensive and highly social, something Caha and I complained about. We only wanted to play, and stuck together through Mass or parties whispering, giggling and coming up with ways to keep each other entertained. We would skip around or hold hands, make fun of others and deny the aristocratic children because they had been already bound into boredom. Our father disapproved, and our childhood became privatized, highly focused on lessons. I suffered through the long days of religion, astronomy, music and literature while Caha restlessly got worse. A high energy child, she couldn't settle for reading and writing all day. Her legs would fidget up and down; her dress tattered constantly from how much she moved.

It earned her many slaps, and stern lectures on behavior of a each ounce of pain she received, I grew concerned. As my age increased, so did my resentment for the way they dealt with her. I knew Caha; it was her personality. Her own unique humor alignment. She was always ready to jump up, ready to explore and enthusiastic about everything she loved. My serious demeanor was the only thing that convinced our father to keep steady. The logic of our twinhood was flawed though. I knew since consciousness that she and I were opposites. At times I would lie and confess to crimes she had committed within the house, enduring silently the pains for her. She would always rush to me concerned and questioning and I would always lie and give her a soft smile, assuring everything was okay. A brother was supposed to do that for her. She was a lady; she did not need to be scarred up. The most profound memory I have of Caha is one I still can vividly see when I close my eyes; the moment I knew I was sinful. She had rushed into my bedroom and tackled me, the only person who could disturb my groggy self and get away with it. Her babbling was something of the first rays of sunshine, and how we needed to go outside immediately to enjoy the air. "Venir cher, viens!" She shouted and bounced, gaining my attention and forcing me out.

But of course, Caha had an eye for beauty. My regrets of climbing out of bed vanished with the bright, warm sunlight and sound of rushing water that I had missed so profoundly. The ice had melted early and spring was finally returning to us. We had started out on the street, my hands falling to my sides, easing the welts on my shoulders beneath my vest. The blood had dried the night before and was no longer seeping through my white shirts. The stinging didn't matter, for Caha ahead of me was twirling her dress and humming with the utmost joy; her smile bright. She was not hunched over, wincing in pain as I had seen before. The sight killed me. We'd turned a corner and came across a large array of arches laced beneath a narrow building, inspired by both Venetian and Roman design. Bridges connected like labyrinths from every angle, and Caha's giggling seemed to sweeten the beauty of Venice. "Regard cher!" She pointed forward, her arm extended as she stepped up, getting her footing between the rails of the bridge. Leaning over the ledge, her body was lean and curved. Perhaps it was her bodice which assisted her appeal, but her aura was brighter than the sun itself. Her eyes sparkled, her neck narrow and craned, and her breasts, I had suddenly noticed, had swelled within the mess of laces and complimented the hips which no longer matched my own.

Forever I see her in that position, in that moment where she was suddenly a woman; a beautiful creature who I knew then was my full counterpart and responsibility. For fear of her falling, and a pang of swooning emotion, I reached for her and gripped at her small waistline, my hands secure around her while she observed the view and trickling water below. My head stayed locked up, admiring her being while she told me about her thoughts on the view. Her words, I've forgotten. But my feelings, I changed that day and I knew, despite what I had been taught, we were destined to be together as we were created. This revelation I kept to myself, in agony as we developed through our adolescent lives. As the years continued she only became fairer; her body dished deeper into an hourglass I couldn't keep my eyes off. Her voice lulled my passions as I myself grew into broad shoulders and strong muscles. When her curls brushed my face, her hand lightly touch me, or arms wrapped around me, I selfishly enjoyed the shameful attraction. I prayed for the times she had nightmares and came to me for protection. I would stay awake for as long as possible once she'd drifted away, smoothing her hair and holding her close against my chest. A beautiful feeling I savored.

But with our ages growing, so did the expectations of our father and mother. Father wished for me to excel in the family business, and mother was convinced that under intensive domesticating Caha could be suitable for marriage. Since she was attractive, they were confident that suitors would take to her youthful features and wish for her to bare children. The thought destroyed me. But, what they did not understand about Caha was her childish nature. The introduction to the idea of becoming a wife terrified her, and they were greatly disappointed in her aversion to the children we had grown up with, now coming to her with advances. I would watch tentatively, my stern demeanor fending for her when they got too close. The training I had received in the art of some fighting was a skill gladly used if any were to touch my sister. No one would taint her, despite my parents' wishes. Though cleverness consumed her fear, and the worst of all outcomes came from the insistent wave of men. Caha's mischievousness crafted a complex over her beauty, and the realization of that tool granted her great power over men. Something I had recognized before her. Something she started to benefit from. Her aversions turned to sweet smiles and careful body language; granting her costumes, masks, money and gifts she desired. It only pressed at my jealousy, and worried me senseless. Though, at the end of the day she would laugh and share with me her treasures.

Her intent was not to give her heart to any, only to take from them. That shallow nature was justified by my benefit, a blessing to my fear. If Caha were to leave, I would have surely been a broken man. Her deviant behavior lasted for some time, until that is people caught on. Rumors started about how strange Caha was; how she played with hearts and made no decisions. When her nature started to stir whispers of being a _puttana,_ my parents took severe action. A courtship was organized by force, some son of a wealthy sea merchant who operated a shipping empire in Venezia. When they gave Caha no ultimatum she protested to every measure. The fury of her busy persona was horrid to listen to, and I watched from above the banister while she stomped, screamed and smashed at objects. Servants had grabbed hold of her arms, and my instinct panged with anger, grip tightening on the rail of the stairs. When my father approached her and slapped her across the face; I lost my composure. They were used to my patience, so my outburst was uncalled for. I must have dived from the second floor that day, my footing strong and my face stern as I ordered my father to never touch her again. I received the same treatment for my outburst, but my rage against him for harming her pressed forward. We were sent upstairs, with no room for discussion. Once the servants had scattered and the commotion had died down, I quietly left my quarters and made my way to the next door down, to Caha.

She had been crying softly, looking at herself in the mirror. A red abrasion marked her milky skin, something that did not become her. Her fingers lightly poked at the mark, eyes strained but happy when she noticed my form in the doorway. "Cher!" She cried softly and ran to me, letting her tears fall in the comfort of my arms. I cradled her close to me, closing us in the room while moving to the soft surface of her bed, to rest her feet. She stayed like that for some time, shivering as I whispered to her softly, assuring what she needed to hear, and the truth of the matter. "_Cher je ne veux pas allez avec quelqu'un…_" She had whined into my shoulder. "_Je sais._" I calmly sighed, "_Je besoin toi avec moi_, Caha. I won't let them take you away from your home." Something about that point had pushed bravery. I felt closer, and my silent pleasures crept up in the back of my thoughts, my breath shuttering and heart cringing at the thought of giving her away. "Caha, no man will ever be good enough for you. No man deserves you." I had said it sternly. I don't remember exactly what we'd whispered, but I'd found my hands tangled with hers, my eyes staring into her own with no intention of hiding my passion. I believe Caha saw that.

* * *

"Were you out of your mind?" The stranger had interrupted his thoughts, Cahin's eyes tearing from the concentrated stare. His thoughts had been bogged with memories. "What do you mean, signore?" The harlequin calmly asked, his fingertips tapping, his mask grinning from afar, on the side of the table. He'd taken it off. "You had already upset the wishes of your own father, and then make an advance upon your own sister?" "…Yes. It was not a matter of the church; it was not a matter of the household. It was a matter of the connection between her and I, signore."

* * *

There was no way I could've lived without Caha. She was the part of my character I lacked, my heart. So at the risk of never having her to myself, I looked at her with my pain, the agony of admiration I had hid for years. The reason why I would tend to her itinerary and every wish. I looked at her with lust, with attraction and made the move I had longed for. The feeling of her lips had only entranced me further, and her silent breaths, her shock and touch brought me to a true sense of euphoria that I'd never experienced. I half expected her to push me away. I expected her to run to father and the church. I expected to be imprisoned and damned, perhaps that kiss had damned me from heaven for giving into temptation but no wrath or punishment would make me regret what I had done and what I wanted to do. My pent up desires had been tasted, and I delighted in knowing I was the one, first introduce intimacy. I remember panting heavily; my body overcome with the experience, frozen in anticipation of judgement. I remember Caha's eyes, watery and bright staring into mine. I remember the drooping eyelids, the plumpness of her parted lips, and her hands snaking around my neck to pull me back to her. I remember kissing her skin, exploring her every inch like I had dreamed. The state we fell into was greater that lovers, and met by the satisfying deflowering of her. I had committed, and made love to her.

The frenzy our lust was still thriving, pushing through my veins as we collapsed together on her sheets. I could feel my blood rushing, alive and healthy. My mind satisfied, as it had wanted to pounce her for years. And despite the ravenous thoughts, I had handled her seemingly as she pleased. Caha never stopped me, never protested. She had enjoyed it. I knew she had from her facial expressions, moans and the act we had committed so flawlessly. "**_Je t'aime._**" I had told her, and she replied with the same confession. Our peace however was short lived, for Caha was torn away from me once more when we'd been discovered one night, naked and embraced. I protected her with my own body, hovering over her while she grabbed something to cover up. Our father had never beaten her so terribly than that evening, and locked me away only to hear her screams. My mind went wild with every moment of it, consumed with revenge. Despite what efforts Father had planned for us, one thing was established. I had been the one to take her, and rightfully we had consummated ourselves. What the old man forgot to remember was that I had always been a swift child. His focus on Caha's behavior had left me much room to learn as I pleased, and build my strengths. In my room, I adorned my set of daggers he himself had given me and pried at the door. My quietness and strength was my greatest resource, and while he kept planning out Caha's life before her eyes, abusing her with his treacherous hands I slashed him across the back to incapacitate him. I brought him down. I was stronger. I slaughtered_ il_ _bastardo_ with no remorse in my heart.

* * *

"And to think she would have such a taste for revenge once I armed her." Cahin quietly trailed off, the light flickering on his face. "..What did you do? How'd you get mixed up in Jesting?" "We ran away like lovers, trained in many arts and applied ourselves in the Venetian nightlife. Something to waste her energy. Something carefree and secretive. We used our chemistry to become performers as an alibi and then eventually contracted killers, under my business intuition of course." The Harlequin chuckled softly, reaching for his mask to adjust it back on his face. "As time passed and morality got in the way, we stopped caring about any moral at all. I feel there is no greater importance than us. Not even the Pope or God himself." The jester stood up, watching the man tense. "I do as I please and I let Caha do as she pleases…" He could feel the fear coming from his guest's eyes, hard with conflict. "A-Atrocious." He murmured to himself, nervous with fear. It was obvious this one would go running to authorities, confessing up the information Cahin had shared. It was always the public's reaction upon discovery. "Sin upon sin." The jester murmured and locked himself in place, his focus falling on him. It was always amusing once and awhile to see the reactions of such disgraceful detail, of the lusts and crimes he and his sister delighted. It wouldn't matter anyway, for Cahin knew the man wouldn't get the chance to live to tell. Once he saw him undressing his sister with his eyes, he had made up the mind to kill him.


End file.
